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A spider drifted down so slowly from the ceiling on a silver thread.

A summer without passion, our selves pulled together like the leaves.

The mountains out your window make Central Park feel rinky-dink.

The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence.

We were assigned straight to the lion’s muzzle, the Sardasht front.

What is greater: the distance between these bodies, or their need?

Here lies the girl difficult to discern. Here lies the girl misanthropic.

Snug in the spell of a cradle rocking, I remember the first time I floated.

Rays burst from behind the mountain, sweep the broad beach.

It’s impossible to identify where your voice ends and the magnitude begins.

When the thugs from the bank showed, up my father laughed.

I could feel the floor’s slight pitch. We were in for a long, long voyage.

You are the only one who knows not to pour water on the flame.

My advice would be not to trust. The ocean is just the ocean until I say otherwise.

As the whorled fingerpad loves Morse, but more so. Worse.

The wok oil ready to tremble and smoke—everything, ready.

I only divine the cat’s location when I hear its small cough.

It’s not the sun and all its colonies that miss you—it’s the frailest barriers.

I lost my pen, I lost my keys, and my hat somewhere on a table.

You’re certain that they’re harmless, benign as a flock of founding fathers.

There’s something I saw at the race meeting I can’t figure out.

When I was a woman, I was all reason and my reason was unjust.

Take my hand, lead me by heart over the blind stepping-stones to the edge.

I give you a real blue song the mountains hold under their foot.

A rider prances toward the ash, a sailor looks for meaning in unrequited hearts.

If you are water my left hand is a horse thief my right hand is alder smoke.

Come live with me. We could plant acorns in each other’s mouths.

It was the season of storm delays, of . . . shame and ghosts on trains

Make haste, my love, I am redrawing the scale of escape.

When you are a father, want sons. There is some math in this.